


Fairground Attraction

by ElectraRhodes



Series: Fannibal Fest Ficlets 2017 [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fairground, M/M, Season 1, Will Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: An alternative take on the role that teacups have in the relationship betweeen Hannibal and Will.





	Fairground Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Vampgrl7609!

It was meant as a little bonding exercise. Will, Hannibal, Abigail, and a simple trip to a fair currently operating just on the outskirts of Baltimore.

Abigail had been keen to get out of Port Haven for the afternoon and Will thought it was as good an opportunity as any to both entertain her and encourage her to think of both he and Hannibal in a more friendly light.

The first hour had been a lot of fun. He and Abigail had screamed their heads off, in a good way, on a roller coaster; Hannibal willing to hold the contents of their pockets as they screeched round the loops and dips. Hannibal had won an obscenely large stuffed deer on a shooting range, excelling even as Will rolled his eyes. Honestly what wasn’t the good doctor good at?

They’d been round every swaying, turning, spinning, vortex of a ride. And they’d tried almost every side show and game of luck or skill. Except. Well. Will wouldn’t be the FBI’s prize empath if he hadn’t noticed a particular pattern. Hannibal was willing to try anything as long as it didn’t actually involve leaving the solid foundations of the ground. Even Abigail noticed after they’d spent ten minutes trying to persuade him onto the dodgems. 

“I find I am a little delicate in such circumstances. It is better if I do not, it would simply spoil your fun.”

Will couldn’t help but wonder if this was more about dignity than anything else, though he’d been willing to try the cotton candy (“truly terrible Will”), a corn dog (“appalling”), and he’d even been persuaded to look at the frankfurters all slathered in mustard (“I beg of you, no”).

Abigail pulled out the big guns and pouted. Desperately Will looked around, anxious to keep their afternoon on an even keel.

“What about the tea-cups? That’s the gentlest ride here? I’m sure that wouldn’t upset your constitution.”

Hannibal looked at the ride. He looked at Will, actually smiling at him, he looked at Abigail, all teenage demand and hope.

“Oh very well.”

They seated themselves. And within thirty seconds of the ride starting both Abigail and Will were astonished to see the colour that Hannibal turned. Abigail whispered,

“That’s not normal is it?”

Will shook his head. This could be bad.

When the ride ended, and none too soon, Hannibal staggered out and was promptly sick. Both Abigail and Will rushed to his aid, Abigail with a bottle of water from her bag and Will to rub between Hannibal’s shoulder blades. He glanced down at the small pool of vomit. He’d never doubt his doctor’s word again. As he focussed a little harder he frowned.

“Hannibal? And I know this is an odd question. Why are there three human digits in this pile of puke?”

Aaah. Not the way Hannibal had intended Will to find out about his other activities. He improvised,

“I happened to be catering a small tea party yesterday.”

Abigail smirked and Will narrowed his eyes,

“All right. I’ll bite.” He paused. “I’ll admit that wasn’t the best turn of phrase in the circumstances. Hannibal?”

Hannibal looked between them, and perhaps there was a touch of desperation in his reply.

“Would you believe me if I said it was all finger food?”

Will sighed. Honestly? If nothing else the puns would give it away soon. Though everyone seemed incredibly dense in the doctor’s company. Maybe the food was just that good? Will snorted, oh wait, maybe that meant? He felt a little green himself then. And swallowed, hard. Abigail smirked and tucked her arm through his.

“Who’s hungry?” She whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> These are six very short ficlets written for the people with whom I shared a table at the Stag Awards dinner at Fannibal Fest Toronto.
> 
> What is my life?
> 
> I mean, honestly? One of them is about a potato. A sentient potato. Now you’re just waiting for that one aren’t you? Oh, yeah, and Will, is the potato.


End file.
